


Easy Like Sunday Morning

by betheflame



Series: Shorts & Drabbles 2020 [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23983213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betheflame/pseuds/betheflame
Summary: Steve tries to cook Tony breakfast. Tony is... as usual... himself about it.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Shorts & Drabbles 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1647499
Comments: 22
Kudos: 178
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Bingo





	Easy Like Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for everyone who has ever commented, kudos'd, bookmarked, beta'd, cheer-read, or anything else with a fic of mine. Today marks the one year anniversary of the first time I posted a fic on Ao3 and if you had told me then what this fandom would come to mean to me in such a short time, I'm not sure I would have believed you. 
> 
> Over 80 works, a few events, and a podcast later, and I'm happy to call the MCU Fandom 'home'. Thank you to everyone who continues to make it feel that way - here is my humble offering of thanks. 
> 
> Special thanks to Marie for the beta and to M_Samro on the PotsCast Discord for the great capsaicin idea. 
> 
> This one is set in my personal canon where they won in IW and the only one who died was Thanos. It fills S4 of my Cap-IM Bingo Card.

* * *

Tony stretched in bed, pawing for the body he thought should be there and only finding sheets instead.

“Friday?”

“Yeah, Boss?”

“I’m missing a super soldier,” Tony mumbled into the pillow.

“Captain Rogers is in the kitchen, Boss, do you want me to page him?”

Tony checked the clock next to Steve’s side of the bed - an authentic 1940s one Pepper and Nat had found at some antique place in Tarrytown and gotten restored for him. _10:15am, holy fuck_.

As though reading his mind, Friday said, “you didn't get to bed until 5:45am, Boss.”

“That explains it,” Tony sighed. As he turned over in bed, he felt the protest of his back muscles from his decision to spend eight hours hunched over the new prototype for the wheelchair engines he was working on. He’d been talking to ability advocates about the issues with all-terrain wheelchairs and had taken it as a personal challenge to make one that could navigate city sidewalks and sandy beaches.

The laws of physics were doing their best to thwart him, but he’d beaten them before.

His stomach rumbled and he decided that coffee was in order. He threw on some sweatpants that he quickly realized were Steve’s with the amount of rolls he had to do at the waist, a hoodie he knew was Steve’s because he’d deliberately stolen it, and padded into the kitchen to find his husband covered in flour and muttering to the oven.

“What did Shirley do to you, baby,” Tony asked in place of a greeting.

“She’s decided to override the temperature on the quiche I’m trying to make,” Steve replied, still scowling. “You know, if you could just deprogram-”

Tony flew to the oven and petted the front glass soothingly. “Shh, darling, he doesn’t mean it, he just doesn’t know our language.”

“I just want appliances that cook food, Tony,” Steve whined.

“They’re here to help you,” Tony replied.

“But they don’t,” Steve snapped.

Instead of replying, Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and kissed the center of his shoulder blades. “Baby, what’s the matter?”

Steve sighed and leaned back slightly, so that he transferred some of his weight into Tony’s arms. “I had a plan and it’s not working.”

“Can I help with the plan?”

“The plan was for you, so you helping defeats the purpose.” Steve punched a few numbers on Shirley’s interface and the oven made a noise that indicated she accepted the new terms. “Finally.”

“Baby…”

“Breakfast, Anthony, I’m just trying to cook you breakfast because you haven’t eaten it in at least six days and you know how I feel about you skipping meals,” Steve said.

“You don’t care for it,” Tony supplied.

“I do not care for it,” Steve affirmed.

Tony made his way over to the stove, where there was a pot simmering. “Is this salsa?”

“I’m trying a new recipe that I got from Señora Diaz,” Steve said, naming one of the women he’d gotten close to at the care home he visited every Tuesday like clockwork. “She said my problem with the last one is that I was adding the peppers too quickly and not letting the capsaicin release.”

“Cap say sin?” Tony repeated slowly, searching his brain for the word.

“It’s the element in chillies that gives them their heat,” Steve replied and then froze. “No, Tony.”

“But - “

“No, that will not be an approved nickname.”

“Not even when you’re being spicy?”

“I’m never spicy.”

“Oh that is a lie, Steve Grant Rogers, because you spice up my life,” Tony said and started crooning Debbie Boone’s _You Light Up My Life_ but replacing ‘light’ with spice and he could tell Steve was struggling to keep a straight face.

This was his job in their marriage - their newly reformed, stronger than ever, best part of his life marriage. He was in charge of reminding Steve to be human, to be silly, to remember that while he had transferred his feelings of taking care of the whole universe to taking care of their friends and family, he did not have to be on guard perpetually.

In short, Tony’s job was to remind Steve that he was allowed to be Steve Rogers, human being. And it was a job Tony took very seriously.

In turn, it was Steve’s job to remind Tony that he was mortal, and that he was loved. Tony needed to be fed and watered and minded - not because he was a burden, but because he was loved.

The decision to head to therapy after Siberia had been the best one they’d ever made.

“Anthony,” Steve started laughing as Tony’s singing got louder, “I got it.”

Tony hit the chorus and started belting.

“TONY!” Steve dissolved into giggles. “Stop it, I’m trying to cook you breakfast.”

“You’re cooking me a spicy breakfast because you are spicy,” Tony retorted.

“I’m not…” Steve turned to see the sparkle in Tony’s eyes and decided to give in. “I’ve lost, haven’t I?”

“All indicators point to yes,” Tony said softly as he leaned in to capture Steve’s lips with his own. “I love you, thanks for breakfast. I’ll be in the workshop, so just -”

“You will absolutely fucking not be in the workshop,” Steve growled. “This is ten minutes out. You will sit your ass -”

“My very fine ass, Steven. You forgot the modifiers,” Tony sassed.

“Your _exceptionally average ass_ ,” Steve fired back, “down on that chair.” He pointed to their kitchen table with the spoon he’d started using to stir the chilli.

“My what?” Tony screeched. “Excuse you, Mr. Haven’t Worked Out For Necessity Since 1942. I do so many squats, _so many_ , Steven -”

He was cut off by Steve’s lips - which was his admittedly favorite way to be interrupted.

“Anthony, sit down.”

“Aye, aye, Capsaicin.”

He dashed to the table to avoid being smacked in the ass - his _absolutely fabulous ass_ , thank you very much - by a dishtowel.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/betheflame1) or [Tumblr](http://betheflame.tumblr.com) for more on these yahoos. You can also submit prompts and cajole me into writing faster - it usually works. If you're on Discord, I'm definitely there, too, and probably hanging in the [Stony](https://discord.gg/z5WSqbS) or [Stuckony](https://discord.gg/jtXcc3n) servers.  
> Oh! And FestiveFerret and I have a [fandom podcast](http://www.podonthesuit.com) if you're so inclined.  
>   
> 


End file.
